commie don't float

Communists (commies), those self-same socialist scumbags that have infiltrated American society to its very core, are inherently evil: kill them on sight. Commie can be found using such fiscally-burdensome and morally-decrepit things as public roads and bridges, communal parks, sidewalks, pedestrian walkways, and local buses. The interstate and intrastate highway systems were built and are maintained using communal funds provided by the taxpayer; as socialist services, they are dangerous to the American way: avoid them until they are destroyed. (In order to avoid contact with commie, switch to widely-available, continent-spanning, privately-funded highway systems, and for-profit bridges, whenever possible.) Avoid public libraries, public transportation, and public universities; these are all taxpayer-funded socialist holdouts that provide equally and at low additional cost for the general Welfare; as institutions crucial to the socialist ideal, they must be avoided until they are destroyed.

Commies have been known to participate in local elections, where they support unnecessary and downright wasteful services such as police forces, firefighters, and sewage and water treatment services. Furthermore, commie will, on the local and the national level, support programs that assist the poor, the disabled, the elderly, and anyone too lazy, incompetent, or stupid to accept the glorious, inherent inequality of consumption-oriented market capitalism. Anyone who votes for programs such as these is a commie. Anyone who wants the wealth generated in America to feed, clothe, and house three hundred million citizens rather than to make a few hundred thousand fabulously wealthy is a commie. Anyone who is shocked upon hearing that one in six Americans suffers from hunger is a commie. Do not trust these loathsome and dangerous miscreants.

As the headline suggests, a dead commie thrown into a river will not float – as he becomes more deeply entrenched in his absurd, amoral mindset, his body will develop fibrous internal growths similar to asbestos (but far more lethal if they should contact non-commie skin, or if exposed to oxygen). Once commie is killed, remove it from the water as soon as possible, as it will rot abnormally quickly, transforming almost overnight into an as-of-yet poorly understood substance that tends to disperse before it hardens, posing a hazard to shipping lanes. As of press time, we have not been able to catch a commie to dissect its body in its living state: we knew enough not to let it live; we kill commie before commie can kill us. Wily and suspicious by its foul, hellish nature, commie can be lured only into cunningly camouflaged traps, although it will run readily to salute a red flag or to sniff a human female in heat. Commie will thrash about wildly once captured, so have your killing implement (bludgeon, cudgel, ax, pipe, or baseball bat) near to hand. The best bait for your commie-trap is crushed ginger-snaps mixed with a national brand of mechanically-separated meat product (preferably one with a high sodium content). Remove the head of dead commie as soon as you can – it might be faking death in hopes of spreading democracy and equality amongst the peoples of the world, when you are not looking; there are few things worse than a wounded, near-dead commie spreading chaos and egalitarianism amidst your defensive lines. Wounding the commie will only enrage it, so take it down good and hard, as it will still be combat effective even after losing several limbs. Shooting off commie's leg will only slow it down – not stop it – so aim for its misshapen head. Setting the vile scum on fire (as with an improvised incendiary device) will only enrage commie, and cause commie to charge your position and to do everything in its power to burn it down before it is consumed by the flames. Stay alert – stay vigilant. Think of your loved ones. Think of the children. Do not hesitate.

Every step toward communism is a step away from our bright future as Self-Enslaved Conspicuous Consumers. In order to stamp out the aforementioned socialist institutions and to save our distended and dehumanizing capitalist system from its inevitable ruin, we must bulldoze our public schools, tear up our public roads, disband our emergency services, raze our community parks, smash our state-maintained bridges, stop up our local sewers, and burn our neighborhood libraries to the ground. Only then shall America be free of communism, and of its bastard cousin, socialism; only then might this shining land flourish once again. Commie may seem peaceful, erudite, and well-educated, but great danger lies in community-mindedness and in making small personal sacrifice to improve the general Welfare. If you cherish your slavery, and you wish to protect your stock options, put bastard commie down for good.

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graffiti removal team warned in court

In county court today, seventeen members of a graffiti removal team were charged with destroying and defacing public property. Seen to be armed with metal-scraper-tipped poles, the individuals were witnessed poking at and otherwise leaving large and prominent scratches upon dozens of utility and traffic-signal poles throughout the greater Los Angeles area (LA). In their defense, the accused stated that they had been hired to remove accumulations of stickers, wheat-paste posters, and other street art, and that the scratches were merely a byproduct of their lawful efforts. Judge Geisternand, presiding, allowed as evidence tapes from cameras operated by the city's Department of Transportation (LADoT) that had filmed inadvertently at least eight of the seventeen individuals using paint-brush-tipped broom-sticks to paint a great number of poles with layer upon layer of a light-gray paint so thoroughly underwhelming as to cause passing drivers to fall asleep at the wheel. Pictures of the damage perpetrated by these Artwork Desecration Teams can be found at the LADoT's own website, under subsection Lunacy, by clicking the tab entitled Oh My What Have We Done.

When asked about the reasons why LA chooses to defile indiscriminately its very own precious and irretrievable works of art, the honorable K. D. Geisternand stated from among the darker recesses of her chambers: “How these people are allowed to deface and to destroy this city's street art; how they are paid to thoroughly scratch up previously untouched metal telephone poles; how they are sent out, in broad fucking daylight, to unceremoniously paint over some of the finest graffiti the world has ever seen; these things I do not understand.” The seventeen were released with a severe warning, but Judge Geisternand docked the graffiti removal teams' organizer, a company owned by the company formerly known as Halliburton, a surliberty of ten whorphans, and sentenced its executive officers to life without joy.

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supplementary info from abcmouse.com!

Parents! Are your kids still sitting around in front of that other flat-screen monitor watching poisonous and boring programming? Is their health in decline, and do they show signs of extreme boredom? Are you looking for a way to keep them tethered to their tiny, imported, colorful plastic chairs, and glued to the Flickering Idiot Box of Self-Enslavement? We at abcmouse.com know that America's parents are looking for ways to further destroy their children's health and latent creativity; we also know just how counter fucking productive it is to encourage children to physically exit the home and to play outside in rapist-infested, germ-laden, terror-inspiring community parks.

To make sure your kid falls behind in school, that she develops early-on diseases such as diabetes, obesity, and social anxiety disorder, and that she leads a generally depressing and unsatisfying life, we at abcmouse.com have developed a suite of Internet-based games that will guide your child's bursting mind back into the browbeaten channels of rigid conformity so sought for by today's pre- and elementary school recruiters. You will marvel at your son's stunted and incomplete problem-solving skills, and his airy and dismissive manner will make you smile! You will cry out with joy upon seeing your daughter charge headlong into a storied career as the local checkout-girl (once, of course, she obtains her GED following the birth of her fourth child by three different men).

If you are so incompetent as to switch to using our service, if you have given up trying to teach things to your child or to mold her into a virtuous and self-sufficient individual to the extent that you cannot see through our crude lie, then you shall surely not understand that switching from one screen to the next makes no difference at all, and that diverting your kid's attention from the television to our website is lost and wasted effort. So come on by, parents of America, and rot your kids' brains at our site, not at the site of some “different” company.

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Grigovia accuses wildlife photographers of spying

Just weeks after apprehending a group of thirteen supposed wildlife photographers found loitering in its Lower Yalung Valley, the Glorious Republic of Grigovia today voiced suspicions that the individuals now incarcerated in the notorious Hrammbar prison complex are members of the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency. While the detained have been allowed to speak with their families and to receive medical attention and psychological care, four of them are rumored to be heavily addicted to the local strain of spice, and four more are being held in solitary confinement following a brazen but unsuccessful escape attempt.

Suspicions were raised when analyses of the Americans' photographs by (Soviet-trained) Grigovian image specialists revealed sensitive data relating to troop movements, field armaments, and active long-range missile sites in sublayers of seemingly innocent image files. Upon being questioned about the data, the Yankees were reported to have remained stone-faced and silent. Pitr Mohammad Yilyilanov, senior press agent for the Grigovian Ministry of Internal Information Gathering (MIIG) speaking from Grig, the nation's capital, stated in a press release that the Ministry had found packets of seemingly random data that, when arranged and compiled with two different sets of commercially available software, turned out to be detailed blueprints and technical specifications for primary military sites along the country's western border, which it shares with Iran.

Each of the thirteen Americans' passports appears to have been stamped by Grigovian customs officials upon entering the country, although MIIG is currently testing the authenticity of the ink, a proprietary blend made using the root of the mountain sharpstand, or czabtyip, which is a rare plant that grows only in the Lower Yalung. Persons processing czabtyip into ink become addicted frequently to the spice, which is a lesser component in the process, but which wafts up readily into the nostrils, and from there, into the lungs.

After verifying their good health and better cheer, the U.S. State Department demanded half-heartedly the return of the thirteen Americans. Insiders at State report that everyone there seems to be standing around in bored half-trances waiting for the real action to get started.

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NOTW is crap – join NOTA!

If you live in one of the many foul, depressing, forgotten, backwater towns (such as Roswell, New Mexico or Hanover, Pennsylvania) that dot these United States, you will have seen stickers affixed to cars that read NOTW. NOTW stands for Not Of This World, and it implies (as far as I have puzzled out, because I refuse to converse with clowns) that the bearer does not consider herself to be a human walking on Earth, rather that she thinks she belongs to a dream-world that may or may not exist in the skies above us in which a large Caucasian man sits on a golden throne all day deciding who gets happiness, who sadness.

Warning! The NOTW devotee is dim-witted and slow of mind. Because of his narrow, limited view of the world, he has little patience for opinions that dissent from his own, and he works hard to drown out and to silence voices other than those spewing his particular brand of idiocy. All he cares about is making his invisible god happy by going to church regularly and chanting along with the other crazies – therefore his grasp on reality will be, at best, tenuous. Since he will be going soon to his Other Place, his clothing will be stained, ripped, and in poor repair. As he will at any moment be beamed up to his Heaven on a rippling stream of his Jesus' piss, he will not have showered or brushed his teeth in months, and he will stink like a gut shot mule-deer. The NOTW crowd, though large and widely-distributed, has only to die in order to get to their Happy Place; they care not for the woes of our nation, nor do they see any sense in making tomorrow a better place.

In response to NOTW, a loose organization has formed for persons seeking a respite from lunatics and idiots. Called Not Of This America, or NOTA, this voluntary affiliation of open-minded, tight-lipped, results-oriented individuals actually works toward making this nation a Happier Place for All; we sacrifice time and effort not to meet the religious measure of others but to improve the lives of our fellow citizens. Two of the primary goals of NOTA are to battle tyranny and religious oppression within the republic and to defend Liberty against all who might do her harm. In keeping with our proud and longstanding traditions of taking personally the plight of fair Columbia, NOTA shall highlight a number of its core values, submitting facts to a candid world.

My America is a place where the Blessings of Liberty are alive and well, where people decide for themselves which drugs to use, where they are allowed to affect their bodies in any way they decide is best, where they can gain or lose weight, drink booze or not drink booze, and smoke dope or not smoke dope as they please. My America is a place where politicians have the common fucking courtesy to keep their religious opinions to themselves. My America is a place where women have full, inalienable rights to their bodies, and where they are free to decide if and when to abort a fetus. My America is a place where all persons have food, clothing, and shelter, and where one out of six of my countrymen does not live with hunger. My America is a place where a homosexual can marry anyone who agrees to marry him back. My America is a place where the economic systems work to better the lives of three hundred million, not to make a few hundred thousand wealthy beyond reckoning. My America is a place where the police protect the Constitution rather than tricking and browbeating innocent persons into forfeiting their hard-won protections. My America is a place where there are more than two, all-but-identical political parties. My America is a place where the people elect their president rather than having their president appointed for them by an electoral college. My America does not invade foreign countries without having first declared war on them, nor does she ever initiate wars of aggression against sovereign nations. My America is a place where only rational laws are passed, where laws based on moral or religious considerations are laughed down raucously by all members of Congress. My America is a place to which the wretched flee so as to escape tyranny, not where the downtrodden are constantly tyrannized.

If any of the aforementioned values struck within you a tone, scrape off that useless NOTW sticker and join the cause for creating a more perfect Union, establishing Justice, insuring domestic Tranquility, providing for the common defence, promoting the general Welfare, and securing the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, all of which at some point in the future shall become again the primary goals of this nation's government. And remember: it doesn't matter if there is a god or not; what matters is what happens where you stand, right now, on this planet, in this land, and if anyone tells you differently, he is a crooked, lying charlatan bent on selling you something.

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Like Irish car bombs? Try a 9-11 suicide high-jacker

In honor of the fathead who named the Irish car bomb, the Confederated Mixologists of America (coma.us.biz) announced today the newest drink to make light of a murderous reality. Just as the Irish car bomb ridicules the lives lost during the Troubles, this new drink ridicules the lives snuffed out on that sunny day in 2001. Entered in the books officially as the 9-11 suicide high-jacker, this liquid drug mixture requires of its user no personal sacrifice of any kind, nor does it reward her with even the semblance of dignity.

To make a 9-11 suicide high-jacker, mix two parts cinnamon fireball whiskey with one part baby's tears, and throw in a pinch of concrete dust. Hurl the mixture from the shattered window of a one-hundred-and-ten story building, and garnish with a battered box-cutter. Enjoy!

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tanstaafl

there ain't no such thing as a free lunch

on Thor's day

today is Thursday, or Thor's Day, the day of the son of main god Wotan, or Wednesday, whose glory I celebrated yesterday by drinking and eating and failing to write.

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on the Straight Pride Parade

In a well-coordinated move meant to prove impartiality toward any particular group of citizens, and to make sure that no one feels left out, the confederated cities of America announced today events meant to celebrate heterosexual populations. Similar in breadth and in scope to events celebrating homosexual populations, Straight Pride Day shall highlight the role of heterosexuals in making this nation into the really great place it is today. “These vanilla-wafer-type non-gays just keep getting more and more tame by the year,” said alderman Walton K'Kliklei, the city of New York's primary liaison to the straights, in a brief statement following the official announcement. Straight Pride Day will culminate in the staging of forcibly awkward public mass sit-down dinner dates.

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on Will Cox's on Wilcox

Do you live in Los Angeles? Do you love watching your butcher do his dirty deed? Are you searching for a professional purveyor of meat, pelt, and bone?

If you answered Yes to any of these questions, Will Cox's on Wilcox Ave in Hollywood is your ticket to fresh and tasty critter flesh. With a wide selection ranging from ibex to buffalo to lowly old steer, Will Cox's on Wilcox is bound to have the tender morsels you have yearned for all these years. Situated directly opposite the U.S. Post Office and mere feet from the historic Mark Twain hotel, our newest location is bound to bring pleasure to the meat lovers of the greater Los Angeles metropolitan area.

Will Cox's on Wilcox is more than just dripping flesh – we also carry all types of tanned animal hides, stuffed and mounted animal heads, and fully assembled, ready-to-ship animal skeletons. So come on down to Will Cox's on Wilcox, and sit in on a public butchering, buy that pelt you have always wanted, and stock up on freshly slain caribou. And remember: if you can't find it at Will Cox's on Wilcox, you won't find it fucking anywhere.

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right to pass revoked in LA

Following approval from the city council issued at its emergency sitting late last night, property owners across Los Angeles revoked unilaterally the rights of pedestrians to use private property, including privately owned sidewalks. This move has been expected for months, since LA's city council long ago abandoned her pedestrian population, preferring rather to kowtow to rich property owners who because of their great wealth can have laws written in their favor by bribing and influencing elected leaders.

Attention pedestrians of southern California: you may not use a privately owned sidewalk unless you have on your person written permission from the property owner! Instead, use the street, the roadway, or any publicly owned sidewalk (which are stamped with City Of Los Angeles, whereas private sidewalks are embedded with polished bronze medallions that warn walkers to turn back). The Los Angeles Police Department is issuing tickets upwards of $1000 to any individual caught using or otherwise trespassing on a privately owned sidewalk.

“Anyone not driving a car by now is just not worth our time, nor are they worth any effort,” LA councilman Hinnrich Rheingoldt was overheard saying just after the sitting ended. “We just don't have time to protect economically insignificant, litigation-shy, foot-mobile fuckheads who aren't buying us flights to Mammoth, or who haven't contributed to any of our political action committees.”

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p.s. cars have right-of-way in the street, so stay on your toes unless you want to get sucked into the slipstream of a passing semi-truck and tossed around like a rag-doll

Grigovia releases wildlife photographers

  Just after dawn this morning, the Republic of Grigovia released a group of American wildlife photographers detained seven months ago. The thirteen individuals were arrested in 2011 in the Lower Yalung Valley near the border Grigovia shares with Tajikistan. A rugged and inaccessible area favored by spice and weapons smugglers alike, the Lower Yalung is famous for its Yaelong, a tight-lipped, aggressive people nearly universally addicted to a a bitter concoction called czabtlan that is brewed using the spice. A mountainous country dotted with remote valleys accessible only by helicopter, Grigovia harbors the world's last remaining wild herds of three-toed tree ibex, fleet-footed forest dwellers prized for their lean meat and intricately-patterned coats. The U.S. State Department accepted custody of the photographers during a brief ceremony held at the embassy's wishing bridge.

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3rd reformed tender of whorphans

Friends.

Our budding tender is struck today with tragedy. United whorphans of the Pan-Coastal region, our lesser jace, Randolm Whittlesmaeyer, died this morning in his sleep. All surviving lesser jaces are expected to attend the emergency sitting of whorphans at 1900 this evening at Jinjo's Diner (near Wahalaihala Point).

At this sitting, duties previously performed by Randolm shall be distributed among the assembled whorphans. These include maintaining the gravel walkways, patrolling along the outer western fence weekdays between 1200 & 1400, chairing the departments of crop maintenance and water recapture/preservation, instructing close quarters combat, and manning the crèche every other evening. Thank you for your time. May you be without ado.

Sincerely,

Reginald Augustus Steele